Unwanted: A Dinner Scene
by VictorianChik
Summary: A One-Shot in which Booth does not want Lance Sweets to come to dinner with him and Brennan. While Brennan overacts her part in making Sweets feel unwanted, Booth struggles with his doubts about being a role model for the young psychiatrist.


Bones One-shot

AN: Here's a one-shot of an evening between Booth, Brennan, and Sweets. I love writing Brennan – such a fun character to explore.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this or make any money.

--

"I still can't believe you talked me into this," Booth complained as Brennan swung into his SUV and shut the door.

"I didn't talk you into anything," Brennan turned to him with her usual earnest expression that cut right those all emotions to bare logic underneath. "He was following us, talking about how much he loved Italian food. You were the one who asked him if he wanted to come with us to _Amore_."

"Because I didn't think he'd agree after I asked 'Do you want to come to our private dinner?' And once he said yes, I expected you to find some excuse why he couldn't come."

"Why do I always have to find the excuses?" Brennan asked.

"Because you're good at being blunt and telling people no," Booth told her as he pulled the SUV away from the curb.

"That's what you always expect from me," Brennan pointed a finger at him. "You like me to appear as the cold heartless one and you get the caring sensitive one."

"Not sensitive," Booth made a face. "I'm not a woman. I'm the good guy, the chivalrous one."

"You want to be chivalrous to Sweets?" Brennan raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean," Booth replied.

"Yes," Brennan nodded, "you would like to appear as the more human of the two of us. But I'm human, too, and I didn't want to be the one who told Sweets he couldn't come. Why don't you want him to come?"

"You don't want him there either," Booth snapped.

"Yes, but I did not ask you if you knew that I did not want him to come. I asked why you didn't –"

"He's annoying!" Booth interrupted. "Always watching us and wanting to be included. We have to be the test subjects and his friends. I can never tell when he's studying us and when he's just hanging out with us. There's a reason psychiatrists aren't friends with their patients, and that goes for Sweets as well."

"And yet you did not tell him no when he agreed to come," Brennan observed.

"Well, it was kind of hard," Booth's voice was tight. "Everyone was standing around, and I didn't know how I could do it without looking like a jerk."

"Once again, your image is more important than your feelings."

"No, no profiling tonight," Booth gave her a stern look. "If I have to put up with the kid watching us, I don't want you giving me knowing looks all evening. We can't fight, not if we want to gang up on him."

"_Gang_ up on him?" Brennan repeated, appearing slightly shocked.

"You know what I mean," Booth slowed at a light. "You and I are a team, a grown-up team against the kid pretending to be smart. We take him out tonight and he never bothers us again."

"I think it's interesting that your male aggression comes out so strongly around Sweets. He is hardly threatening, but you seem determined to stake your claim over the female – me – and your territory – the whole team."

"I am not showing male aggression," he objected.

"Oh, please," Brennan looked out the window, "you might as well have mated with me and peed all over the lab."

Booth shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not looking at her.

Brennan tried not to smile – sometimes he was just too easy to read.

"But seriously," he finally said, "we have to end Sweets."

"Are you planning to shoot him or do I bring the piano wire to strangle him?"

Booth glanced at her. "Are you trying to make a joke?"

Brennan's face fell. "I was attempting sarcasm. Did it come out funny? I was trying for a sort of biting humor, I guess, but maybe –"

"You were sarcastic enough," Booth assured her. "But if we make Sweets miserable enough tonight he won't bother us anymore."

"Isn't that kind of mean?"

"This coming from the woman who asked the widow of three days if she knew her husband was faithful or if she just hoped he was."

"That was different. That woman was a case and her husband probably was cheating. This is different – Sweet's is a – a . . ."

"A what?" Booth smirked.

"Fine," Brennan declared. "Tonight we end Sweets forever. After tonight, he won't dare lift his head because the emotion wounds will have cut him to shreds."

"You don't have to be so dramatic. Oh, man, there he is," Booth slowed the SUV. "Look how eager he is, standing there on the curb like a chump. What's he wearing – jeans and a sports' coat? Pathetic."

The SUV pulled to a stop, and Sweets opened the back door and climbed in. "Hey," he leaned in between the two front seats, "I thought for a minute you guys had ditched me."

"The thought had occurred to us," Brennan said in a loud voice.

Sweets blinked, and Booth tried not to roll his eyes.

"But we didn't want to leave you crying on the curb," Brennan went on in the same ringing tone. "That's what you would do if we left you – cry like a child."

Booth pulled the SUV from the curb with a squeal of tires. He knew he shouldn't have told Brennan about his plan to un-friend Sweets. She wasn't any good at human emotions; Booth didn't know why he thought she would be good at acting.

Sweet nodded along, laughing shortly as if she had told a joke he didn't quite understand. "Well, you came, so who cares? What's this restaurant like?"

"It serves Italian food that you are probably not old enough to appreciate," Brennan continued, looking out the window loftily. "You will be bored and hungry."

"She's kidding, Sweets," Booth said to him while shooting her a warning glance to tone it down.

"We're out of the office – you can call me Lance," Sweets said, still leaning forward so he could see them better.

"Why would we want to call you anything?" Brennan remarked, but Booth quickly said,

"The restaurant is right around the corner, not too much farther. It's kind of small and out of the way, but the food is amazing."

Brennan looked like she might say something about how Sweets would not be able to recognize amazing food, but Booth kept talking about the restaurant and how great it was.

Once they got there and parked, Sweets jumped out of his seat and hurried to open Brennan's door. She sniffed as she got out.

"I could have opened the door myself," Brennan declared snootily as she swept past Sweets who looked rather crestfallen.

"Sorry," Booth said to him before running ahead to catch up with Brennan. "What are you doing?" he hissed at her.

"Being mean," she whispered back low enough that the trailing Sweets could not hear her.

"Tone it down," Booth hissed. "Play aloof, and not queen bitch."

Brennan huffed, but Sweets caught up with them at the door.

There weren't too many people in the restaurant, and the maitre d' seated them quickly and handed them menus.

Sweets opened his menu and glanced over it before looking up eagerly. "What are you drinking tonight?"

"I'm driving so I'll just have a light wine," Booth announced.

"Red wine for me," Brennan said simply.

"What do you want? A coke?" Booth asked.

Sweets blinked again. "I – I was going to have wine. I'm over twenty-one, you know that, right?"

"Oh, sure, but a lot of people don't like wine," Booth said smoothly. "I guess I thought you would be more the coke and pizza kind of guy, you know, to go along with the video games."

"Oh," Sweets nodded slowly, "I get it. No, pizza and coke's fine when I'm hanging out with – with –"

"Your gaming buddies?" Booth smiled, but he kept his smile almost condescending. "Having all night Halo parties?"

Sweets didn't answer and went back to reading his menu. Their maitre d' came back to ask for their drinks and Booth ordered a light wine, Brennan red wine, and then the man turned to Sweets.

"And for you, sir?"

"I'll – I'll have red wine," Sweets said softly, glancing hesitantly at Booth and Brennan to see what they would do. Booth raised his eyebrows slightly as if Sweets had made a doubtful choice. Brennan continued to read her menu with icy severity and refused to look away.

After the maitre d' left, Sweets tried to start up a conversation.

"So, what do you think about the Jones case? I think –"

"We do not talk about work when we go out to dinner," Brennan cut him short.

"Oh, sorry, but I thought you would think the particulars –"

"We do not discuss it," Brennan's voice was so harsh even Booth flinched.

"Sorry," Sweets stared back at his menu.

The maitre d' came back with their drinks and asked for their orders. Brennan ordered the spinach lasagna and Booth chose the penne with ragu of lamb and olives, and then once again all eyes were on Sweets.

"Uh, uh," he glanced frantically at the menu, "I will have the – the –"

"Should I order for you?" Brennan demanded. "He will have the spaghetti and meatballs. And please cut the meatballs up for him."

The maitre d' opened his mouth but seemed unable to speak. Sweets flushed but nodded, mumbling, "That will be fine."

The maitre d' took their menus and hastily hurried away, leaving Brennan looking down her nose at Sweets and Booth trying to appear careless and aloof.

Sweets stared down at his hands, twisting his fingers together as he tried to think of something to say.

"Well," Brennan finally said, "since some of our party seems to be struck mute, perhaps you would like to tell us what you discovered this morning at Smithsonian, Booth."

"Well," Booth began, but Sweets lifted his head to protested,

"You just said no work talk."

"Did your mother never teach you any manners?" Brennan demanded. "You don't interrupt people."

Sweets' cheeks had flushed very dark red, and he kept looking back and forth between Booth and Brennan for some clue as to what was going on.

"I found an interesting document about the Civil War," Booth explained. "I find civil wars unique because it's one country divided to fight among itself."

"Yeah, I wrote an honor's thesis on the British civil war of the 1600's," Sweets nodded along, trying to look less hurt and ready to get on with the conversation.

"Well, this was the American Civil War," Booth told him. "It's different."

"But don't all civil wars share similar –"

"No, they don't," Booth cut him off. He could see Brennan twitch, probably wanting to correct him and explain that all wars shared similarities. But she stayed quiet, and Booth went on, "The Civil War had the South wanting to succeed from the Union, not just win the war and take over."

"Maybe you should have done more research," Brennan said bluntly.

"Okay, what's going on?" Sweets demanded. "You two don't usually act like this."

"We do when _we_ go out to dinner," Booth told him.

"Especially at Italian places," Brennan added.

"But –" Sweets did not finish because the maitre d' brought out their food, including a plate of spaghetti with cut-up meatballs. Sweets said nothing as he picked up his fork, but Brennan commented, "Don't you want to tie a napkin around your neck so you don't spill food on your clothes?"

"I know how to eat," Sweets protested, but Brennan did not answer.

The food was good; Booth did not realize how hungry he was until he started eating. The wine was good with the food though he wished he could have had red inside of white. Brennan was eating in small bites, still looking like an ice princess. Sweets chewed his food slowly, looking unhappy and downtrodden.

Booth felt slightly bad – he didn't want the kid that miserable, but dang it, he and Brennan deserved an evening out to themselves. Was that too much to ask?

Sweets took a sip of his wine and made a face at the sour taste.

"We told you," Brennan commented. "Make next time you'll listen to us."

"It's fine," Sweets said as he took a bite of food. "I don't usually –"

"And you're talking with your mouth full," Brennan sneered. "You're a complete pig."

Sweets tried to chew, but he ended up choking on a piece meatball and started coughing. He kept coughing, gagging slightly, and Booth grew alarmed. He reached over to clap the young man on the back, and Sweets promptly choked his mouthful of food onto his plate.

"Oh, disgusting," Brennan snapped. "This is what happens when you bring a child to a nice dinner place. You've just ruined our dinner, thank you very much. This is why we didn't want you to come. Can't you see you're not wanted? Isn't that right, Booth?"

Brennan had apparently hit a nerve at last because Sweets' eyes glassed with tears. That could have been because of the choking, but he threw his napkin down on the table and stood up. He gave them one last painful look and turned away from the table.

"That was too much," Booth snapped at Brennan.

Brennan bit her lip in concern, and Booth let his breath out heavily before he leapt to his feet to follow the younger man.

"Hey, Sweets, come back," he called, but Sweets was heading for the door. Booth ducked past the maitre d' and went to grab Sweets' arm before he could get out the door.

"Let me go," Sweets demanded, refusing to look at him. "I want to go."

"Come on," Booth kept a hand on Sweets' thin shoulder and the other holding his arm as he turned the young man around. "Come back to the table."

"I don't want to," Sweets objected, but Booth was stronger and Sweets had to go along or start a fight in the middle of the restaurant.

Booth led him back to his chair and got him to sit down.

"Is everything all right?" the maitre d' came over to ask.

"Yeah, can we have a glass of an ice water?" Booth asked, and the maitre d' hurried away. "Come on, Sweets, calm down."

"Calm down?" Sweets lifted his red face, his lips trembling slightly. "You've both been mean to me all night. And I tried to look nice – I even got this new coat and the tag's rubbing my neck raw, but you two –"

"It was Booth's idea," Brennan protested. "He said we had to end you forever."

"It wasn't like that," Booth objected.

"He didn't want you tagging along," Brennan insisted. "We had to make you miserable so you would never eat with us again."

"Is that true?" Sweets looked even more distraught.

"Not exactly," Booth searched for something to say to make the whole situation better. "I was just trying to – you know, sometimes we like to – she was going to make me pee all over the lab!"

"That was a metaphorical comparison," Brennan told him. "You were the one who wanted me to act all cold and unfriendly."

"So you two were trying to make me believe that I wasn't wanted?" Sweets looked very unsure of himself, and Booth was suddenly struck with how young he looked.

"The actual term was 'gang up on you'," Brennan explained. "But it was all Booth's idea. He wants to be the human one so I have to be the queen bitch, he said."

"I didn't say it like that!"

"If you don't like me, just say so," Sweets threw his arms out. "You don't have to make me feel bad and stupid because –"

"Oh, look here's the water," Booth said quickly as the maitre d' came up and put the ice water on the table. "Drink the water – it'll help."

Sweets looked rebellious, but he grabbed the glass and took several gulps.

He set the water back on the table and declared, "I don't feel better."

"Give it time," Booth hedged. "Take another sip."

"I don't want another sip," Sweets crossed his arms. "I don't want to be here with you two. In fact, I don't want to see you ever again. I'm transferring you to someone else."

"Don't do that – we don't mind being your lab rats," Brennan told him. "Just not all the time."

"All the time?" Sweets sniffed. He swiped a hand over his face, still trying to pretend that his eyes were not teary. "So that is what this is about? You feel like I treat you like lab rats so you tried to turn it around and see how I felt when you manipulated my feelings?"

"Sure," Booth nodded, glad to have an out

"Yes, that is exactly right," Brennan mirrored Booth's serious expression.

"Oh, okay," Sweets managed a wobbly smile. "You could have just told me, but I understand if you wanted to teach me a lesson. After this, I promise I won't be all psychiatrist when we go out. As far as I'm concerned, outside of the office we're just three friends hanging out."

"Yeah," Booth reached for his wine, "three friends for life."

Sweets sat up a little straighter, and Brennan reached under the table to press her hand on Booth's knee to let him know she was proud of him.

"Okay, I'm going to go the bathroom for a minute," Sweets stood up.

"Would you like up to get you a small pizza and a coke?" Brennan asked, smiling at him.

"Yeah, thanks," Sweet returned her smile and walked towards the back of the restaurant.

The moment he was gone, Booth got the attention of the maitre d' and ordered the pizza and coke for Sweets. When the maitre d' carried off the plate of spaghetti, Booth growled. "That was awful. Now he thinks we're his best friends."

"That was fun," Brennan realized. "Not the making him cry part, but I don't get play mean as often as I should. I'm usually removed and calm, but to be so heartless – I kind of liked it."

"Not good to hear, Bones," Booth shook his head.

She looked in the direction where Sweets had gone. "He's not that bad. He's just young. I'm sure you were like him at once point, and the way he follows us around, don't you think it's sweet, a little bit?"

"No," Booth ground out. "I think he's annoying. I don't like his smiling and his goofy face and his eyes always watching me."

"You know," Brennan cocked her head at him, "I don't you think you are threatened by Sweets."

"Thank you," Booth said.

"I think you know he wants to be like you and that scares you."

"You're crazy," Booth scoffed.

"Well, anthropology has proven time and time again that young males often try to emulate the alpha male in their lives. You are the alpha male here, the one in charge who makes decisions and tells people what to do. Sweets is behaving perfectly normal by copying you."

Booth did not look convince, and she persisted,

"We both were critical of him tonight, but when he ran off, you were able to get him to come back even though he didn't want to. It's often been observed in herds of wild elephants that the alpha male –"

"I'm not an elephant," Booth said grumpily.

"Why are you so scared to have someone look up to you?" Brennan questioned. "Zack and Hodgins do."

"But not like this – I've never made Zack cry . . . have I?" Booth glanced at her.

"Not directly," she took a sip of her wine. "But Sweets is different. He's vulnerable, self-conscious, easily manipulated."

"Ah, jeez, our therapist needs therapy," Booth leaned back, but Brennan put her hand on his shoulder.

"Why are you scared?" Brennan repeated.

"Because . . . I've made so many mistakes," Booth admitted. "I don't want anybody to copy me."

"You're a good man," Brennan argued. "Sweets would do well to follow in your footsteps."

Booth smiled at her, thinking how beautiful she looked in the light of the restaurant, her eyes shining brightly. Then Sweets came back, looking more composed, and sat back down, ready to put the whole uncomfortable evening behind him.

"What'd I miss?"

"We got you new food," Brennan told him. "And Booth and I would like to hear your thoughts about the Jones case."

"Really?" Sweets' whole face lit up.

"Sure, why not?" Booth told him.

"Okay, I had this theory about what would prompt people to behave so erratically, and I used several points from rejection theory to illustrate my points."

As Sweets went on and on, Booth pretended to listen and nod along with whatever the kid was saying. But all he could see was Brennan – the way she kept her eyes on Sweets and the way she smiled ever so slightly to encourage him to keep talking.

Booth took another sip of wine and reflected that it wasn't such a bad evening after all.


End file.
